


Repose

by settledownfrohike



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Season/Series 07, ish, s7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/settledownfrohike/pseuds/settledownfrohike
Summary: Morning Snippet





	Repose

She’s been awake for more than an hour now, watching faint slats of peach grow more and more defined on the cool evening cream of her bedroom walls, filling her with dread. Her stomach is heavy with it, her heart rate well above it’s resting rhythm. The man next to her is at peace, ignorant to the coming day’s demands, nude and supine, soft sheets kicked low and haphazard, one long limb bare and askew. Admiring his form is a welcome distraction, soothing and regressive. He is lovely in any way that he exists, taxed and hyper focused, distant and unreachable, manic and untamable. Now, though, he is exquisite, exceptional beauty lying in the rarity of the moment, in the thrill of possessing it. He is warm and pliant, sated and safe, the sinew of muscle gone slack, belly soft, rising and falling with deep and even breath. A long, lavish gaze from fluttering lashes down the length of his torso ends in a dark pelt of fur and the naked, morning-fat base of his cock. Her mouth waters.

“See something you like?”

His voice is sleep- drunk, gritty and more nasal than usual, bedroom eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Maybe,” hers is rough with disuse, and her pertness is feigned. She’s too quick on the draw to be as drowsy as he is, and he’ll notice that.

Before he can latch on to her thoughts, she shifts closer, resting her ear over the throb of his abdominal aorta, relishing in the whoosh of his living underneath her. Lately, the idea of losing him, losing this, freezes her blood. It renders her panicked and incapable of function. This weakness is everything she was afraid of. The desire to keep him close and hoard proof of this reality seizes her with increasing, desperate, embarrassing frequency.

Science dictates that his apocrine glands are triggering this response from her hypothalamus. The scent of basal male musk combined with the traces left of her own arousal are nevertheless intoxicating, and oddly soothing in a familial, herd-instinct sort of way. As adverse as she is to idea of being possessed, being his feels like the apex atop her hierarchy of needs. The salt along the ridge of his dorsal vein brings her out of the fog of her melancholy as she laps at him indulgently.

“What are you up to, Miss Dana Katherine? Day light’s a’waiting…We have to be somewhere soon.”

His words are slurred and purposefully obtuse, inspiring a burst of cheekiness as she takes the now-thriving root of his cock gently between her teeth. His muscles clench in surprise, and it achieves the desired effect of his silence —momentarily.

“Hey now..we need that…”

She doesn’t bother with rebuttal, instead choosing to continue her worshipful ministrations between his thighs until fingertips at her occipital insist on an audience.

“Hey…where are you?”

She glowers up at him seductively, “at present?”

He doesn’t take the bait, and she damns his empathic gifts. Mulder never was the kind to be led around by his dick, and this might be the first time she’s resented it.

“I’m just not quite ready to face the day..that’s all,” she mumbles between delicate kisses amongst the soft hair surrounding his pubis. Too soon they will rise, don their armor and kiss goodbye at the door, personas taking precedence over person. Heavy trench coats will billow in the early spring chill like capes behind unwilling saviors of this world, and maybe the next. For now, they are stripped and dangerously vulnerable, and she’s choosing to turn a blind eye to reality in favor of oblivion because she can, if he would only allow it.

“Hey,” And damn that gentle tone, damn his ability to know her, always, “come here.”

Their mouths meet and communicate what words cannot. He sweeps her underneath him and covers her with his body, prolonging the sanctuary she craves, penetrates her, transports her, shields her against the burning of the dawn.

end


End file.
